He runs Amazon Music. The service which might get little ink, but is a powerhouse. Voice control is everything, and Amazon Music is closely tied-in to Alexa. Furthermore, when I asked how many people had an Alexa-powered device at the Music Media Summit, where this podcast was recorded, almost everybody raised their hand. One person had an Apple HomePod. Only a couple had a Google Home. There’s a first-mover advantage, and as long as you improve, you win. This is Apple’s failure, the failure of Siri. I never use it, do you? And Google’s voice recognition is quite good, but what makes Alexa work is Prime. Which seemingly everybody has, at least everybody willing to open their wallet.

You get free music with Prime.

You can get all the music just on your Echo/Alexa.

You can get a Spotify/Apple-type music subscription too.

And on your Echo Show, the lyrics are displayed.

Never underestimate ease of use, never underestimate the consumer’s unwillingness to switch. This is how Apple has built its music streaming service, marketing to those already in the ecosystem.

But it gets better. You see Amazon is creating its own metadata. Not just name, title and song, but other categories, such that Amazon Music can make playlists on the fly! That’s right, you’re not limited to those created by curators. “Alexa, play me depressing music from 1967.” I just tried it, the playlist started with “The Wind Cries Mary.” And you can do this on the app, not only the Echo devices.

Furthermore, Amazon is not dominated by hip-hop, other genres get much larger play, this speaks to their broad audience.

Steve Boom is the guy.

Listen.

A snippet:

Steve Boom On The Power Of Voice With Alexa On Amazon Music (listen to the podcast on TuneIn: https://t.co/qupGV3TfFR) pic.twitter.com/rgVOO21Xq8

— Bob Lefsetz (@Lefsetz) June 27, 2018

TuneIn

Apple

Google Play

Stitcher

Soundcloud

Overcast

Acast

Castbox

We’ve got it in the record business too.

Let’s start with the charts. WRONG! They exist for the producers, not the customers. They don’t calculate what people are listening to, not when there’s a formula of paid streams, video streams, sales and… But the bottom line is what is #1 may not be that big at all.

That’s the story of the 2016 election, how the usual suspects missed the Trump surge. How august institutions thought they knew what was going on when they didn’t.

Let’s start with promotion/lifespan.

It’s no longer a sprint, it’s a marathon, more than ever. No one sells enough product in a week to make their numbers right away. If it doesn’t sustain, you’re not making any money. So when you ramp up all the publicity on the front end, the joke is on you. If you’re smart, and this is a dumb business, you’ll build the story over a year. If you do it right, the triumph will come months after release, even a year.

And you still may not feel like you’re making any headway.

We did not see this coming.

The usual suspects said free music would disincentivize people to create. Well, just the opposite happened. With the barrier to entry so low, seemingly everybody is making music, and hounding us for attention.

Now, more than ever, you want to start small. It’s about your fan base. Reaching it and sustaining it. Everybody else is an afterthought, especially if it’s at the cost of your hard core fan. Hard core fans want constant communication and constant music, even if it’s just covers on YouTube, satiate them.

Hip-hop is big, but not that big. It’s the biggest genre, but it doesn’t populate outside its fan base. This is unlike the sixties with AM radio and unlike the MTV era, when we were all listening to the same stuff. The business abhors chaos, it’s trying to codify that which cannot be. Now is the time to follow your own muse, if labels were smart, and they’re not, they’d sign non-hit acts, acts that don’t follow trends, that are unique unto themselves. Because it’s easy to reach somebody, and if you get it right, they’ll spread the word to more people, and then you’ll have a presence.

It’s not only late night shows that don’t move the needle. NOTHING on television moves the needle. Yes, morning television might let alta kachers know your aged act is on tour, but you’re running on fumes anyway, you’re on the tail end of this business that’s built on creativity and innovation, and if you’re just playing the hits…

Every show should be unique, every show should be different, to build excitement, to make people want to come more than once.

We’re breaking away from not only TV, but radio. The last bastion of the old system. Yes, terrestrial radio has a big reach, but it’s smaller than ever before, you’re much better off spending your time pitching streaming services to get on their playlists.

Our business is in turmoil heretofore unseen.

Jay Z and Beyonce do a video at the Louvre and most people never see it. This is a far cry from Michael Jackson and “Thriller.”

And on one hand, you should contemplate what can reach everybody.

On the other you shouldn’t worry about it, because there are enough spoils for everybody good, even though most people are not.

Ignore the Soundscan charts. Completely. Laugh when you read them in the newspaper, illustrating how out of touch those outfits are.

The only statistics that are truly meaningful are touring numbers and streaming numbers. And at this late date, many genres still have not embraced the streaming model. No one is pushing non-hip-hop listeners to streaming, and therefore these other genres are being left behind. We can’t see them on streaming services, they don’t show up, not in prodigious numbers, so hip-hop rules and everything else seems irrelevant, but we know this is untrue.

Now, more than ever, is the time to be different. Genre is irrelevant, quality and creativity are. Creativity is about inspiration, the opposite of the collaborative track written by sixteen people. When music is massaged for consumption you’ve lost the plot. And isn’t it funny that big hits like “The Greatest Showman” don’t sound like anything else, but the audience gets them.

Everybody’s inured to the old game.

Then you’ve got John Mayer who’s turning it on its head. He blew up his career in “Playboy,” dated Katy Perry and wanted more hits, fired his manager after not having any and ultimately ended up becoming a road dog with endless runway and endless bucks. Dead and Company just played their 100th gig. Turns out people are fans of music, not hits.

Then again, there’s a dearth of singable songs out there.

Opportunity is rife for those thinking outside of the box.

Meanwhile, too many of those inside keep slinging fake news.

Hurray For The Riff Raff was a revelation.

Jack White was an inspiration.

Jeff Goldblum was a surprise.

And Gomez was having so much fun you felt like you wanted to join a band.

It’s summer in Southern California. But despite being the longest days of the year, it gets cold at night. For the last couple of acts I parked my feet on the cart path, which retained the heat. That’s right, Arroyo Seco is at the Rose Bowl, on the golf course. It’s a beautiful site, with plenty of room to stretch out on. What does the festival stand for? I DON’T KNOW!

Maybe you grew up with Woodstock. Maybe you remember when sound reinforcement was bad, when bands could not perform harmonies, when lines for the port-a-potties were long and the food was execrable. That was the sixties, that was the seventies, that was half a century ago.

But now music is a mature business. It’s almost pre-Beatles in a way. The glitz and glamour are gone. it’s truly a business. Not the epicenter of the culture. And when you go to the show, it’s about you, not them.

Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist. Of course there are superstars. Of course there are acts to die for, that you sing along with. But no one is as big as they used to be, ubiquity is history in the internet age. And if you miss the show, you will survive. You only have to be able to reach your social sites, you can’t live a day without your handset, it’s your most important possession, everything else is secondary.

So this was a day in the park.

My generation was mostly absent. It’s weird to be the oldest person in the crowd. But it’s good to be old. Life is about a pecking order. And when you reach my age, you’re comfortable with who you are. Before that…

Everybody had on their look. Nobody came as a schlub. Can you meet someone at a festival like this? I’m not sure. Are the women dressing to impress the women or the men? I think the former. It’s a veritable cornucopia of humanity, but almost no one was fat, that’s the SoCal culture. But whereas I used to be elated that I’d made it this far, to the left coast, the whole country, the whole world, has been squeezed together. You fly cross-country on a whim. Everybody’s reachable, findable, yet anonymous.

Like the acts.

I didn’t get there early enough to see Dwight Twilley. I’M ON FIRE! Remember when that hit the airwaves? He could never equal it, the last time I saw him was at Madame Wong’s, and he didn’t play it. I didn’t know he even still gigged. But I had a memorial to go to, I couldn’t make it.

But I did see Shakey Graves. I wasn’t impressed. The crowd liked him, but he didn’t hook me. I was getting depressed. I was there alone in the heat and I stumbled over to the Willow tent where Jeff Goldblum and the Mildred Snitzer Orchestra were holding court and…

They hooked me.

It’s not my kind of music. But they were having fun! Jeff talked to the audience, had them sing songs by those on the bill. And for a finale, he and the band covered “Harvest Moon.” Hmm…a thinking musician, I’m all for that, especially in this brain-dead world.

I’ve seen the Milk Carton Kids up close and personal and I loved them. But it didn’t work on a big stage, despite having a full band. If I’d missed them, there’d be no loss. But I stumbled back to the Willow tent to see Hurray For the Riff Raff and I was stunned.

Alynda Segarra is a star. How come nobody knows?

Her band was incredibly tight. And the songs were catchy and meaningful and she had the music in her and I was enraptured.

Then I saw on my phone she’d been doing it for ten years already, and I was reminded of the era we live in. Where you’re lucky if you can fight your way to the middle. If you see her, you’ll be closed. She’s the woman we’ve been waiting for. But she’s not TMZ-ready, and she’s Puerto Rican, and do we have a racist, sexist media? Is there room for a Puerto Rican woman? I don’t think so. Remember, this is the country with a hurricane on the island that got little help.

Just when you think rock and roll is dead you get re-inspired.

Sounded to me like some of the songs were radio-ready. But is the target audience even listening to the radio? This was a political show without being strident. I don’t want to overstate the case, but don’t pass up a chance to see this act. Hurray for Hurray For The Riff Raff.

As for Chrissie Hynde…

Do they come any cooler?

But unlike Alynda Segarra, Hynde and her Pretenders came up in an era where either you had a record deal or didn’t count. Where if you got on the radio everybody knew who you were. So, we know the songs by heart. Especially the women in the audience. Women are inspired by Hynde, she made it her way in a boys’ club. Her flock are believers.

As for the food…

I didn’t eat anything good.

The gourmet hot dogs were not.

The lobster roll was good, but light on meat.

And the bratwurst was undercooked.

Could have just been what I picked. But my wallet was forty three dollars lighter and I had little satiation.

And then came Jack White.

I can’t listen to his records. They’re half-baked, the material is not superior.

And everybody laments the breakup of the White Stripes.

And the guy must have the best publicist, he’s in the news constantly.

But on stage tonight…

It was like we didn’t matter, like he wasn’t doing it for us. Like he was beamed down from the heavens fully-formed, and didn’t sound like anybody else.

We live in a hip-hop world. And one of the reasons this is so is because so much rock is derivative. But not White.

My favorite moment was when he played the drums and you could hear the piano and…

It was transcendent. You didn’t have to know the material to appreciate it. White took us on an aural trip. I was transfixed. Grooving. He’s an original in a sea of imitation.

The production was interesting, but didn’t work in the sunlight.

But it didn’t matter. The music expanded our minds. White delivered. He was the king of the show, whether the audience realized it or not. The band was polished. He picked like he did in “It Might Get Loud” and he made me a fan overnight.

As for the Specials…

I’m a huge ska fan. But while I watched they didn’t play the classics, and at best it’s ancient material, and it was weird after living in the future with Jack White to go back to the past. Nostalgia is creepy.

And I missed Margo Price, I was deep in conversation.

And Belle and Sebastian too.

But while the Specials disappointed, I wandered to the Willow tent to hear Gomez and…

I was stunned by the applause.

It’s not that that there were that many people there. But seemingly every Gomez fan in L.A. was. They were singing along. They were elated.

And I haven’t seen the band since they played the Palace over a decade ago. And I never loved them that much. But as I stood there, they got to me. It was the passion. And the sound. You’re jaded, you think you’ve seen it all, and then you find you’re hooked all over again.

Which made me late to see Neil Young.

I was planning to stay until the end. But when he was jamming on songs I didn’t know ad infinitum I decided to bolt. That’s right, I’m now a true Californian, leaving early to beat the traffic.

So what did we learn?

A festival is not about the music. The music is an afterthought. With the right music, the trappings are irrelevant. You’ve just got to see the acts.

But while one is grazing one can get turned on to new stuff.

So, there were moments there where I was fully-focused, my body was moving, I was grooving to the tunes, and then…

I was wandering amongst the assembled multitude and wondering how I fit in, not only here, but in life in general.

Maybe it’s my age. Oldsters want to be treated special, and that’s impossible at these huge events.

And for most of the day I was alone. Just like I used to be. When I needed to go to the show to complete myself.

And I felt broken for a good part of the day.

But Hurray For The Riff Raff gave me hope.

And Jack White proved…

There are still stars. They’re different from you and me. They’re not playing to us, but for themselves. They exude confidence. We can just stand there listening wondering…HOW DO THEY DO THIS?

One day Paul McCartney is gonna die.

And we’re never gonna believe he was ever alive.

We thought rock and roll was forever. And then David Bowie passed. Glenn Frey. Prince and Tom Petty. You’re getting the impression you’d better see your favorite classic act now, because they truly might not be around anymore.

Not that that’s the essence.

The essence is the songs. The records. The singers. The players. HOW DID THEY DO THIS?

That’s one thing we know for sure, we never could. It’s different from being smart, it’s different from learning a trade, it seems somehow these people channeled the gods and made concrete creations that not only infected our lives, but changed them.

Like the Beatles.

They were the internet of their day. Remember how you bought a computer just to play on AOL? In ’64, everybody rushed out and bought a Beatles album. But the difference is, today you’ve got no use for that old Packard Bell or Dell, but those sweet sweet tunes sound just as fine.

And rock and roll is all about image.

But when you break that image…

That’s right, in this clip Paul McCartney looks old. Nearly frail. It’s still him, but he’s a grandpa. Hip, but a bit crotchety when it comes to movement. And you’re not turned off in the least, you want to will him to go on, to never die, to be here forever, because once he’s gone, we’re next.

And unlike seemingly everybody else, Paul McCartney won.

Not only is he still here, he’s got children and grandchildren, upright citizens. How did that happen? When seemingly everybody else got caught up in drugs, and if they didn’t o.d., made a mess of their lives.

And he never got cheesy. And never lost his fame.

That’s the amazing thing here, the way the throngs appear, because it’s HIM!

Hang out with a teen phenom of yesteryear, most people ignore them. They can shop like normal people, you and me, but not Paul McCartney.

He’s led a charmed life. But the stunning thing is it’s OUR LIFE!

We know those records by heart. When the assembled multitude starts singing along in the pub, everybody knows the words, young and old.

Kinda like that matron in the barber shop, on Penny Lane. She was young once. She remembers. When the Beatles were playing the Cavern Club, when they were coming up. She doesn’t think about it every day, but she’s instantly jetted back upon seeing Paul, the same way you are when seeing this clip.

And Corden is nice enough, but he’s superfluous, flavor of the moment, Paul is forever, and he’s the star.

He’s sitting in the Range Rover and exuding a charisma and a complacency all at the same time, how does he do this? And when he starts pointing out landmarks…

Everybody faked a British accent. Liverpool was the most famous city in the world. They’re driving around and it’s like a kinescope to the past. A link between who you were and now are and forevermore shall be.

Paul actually lived there. Everything in the songs is real.

They go to the house he grew up in, Paul’s first time back since he resided there, and…

It’s living history. Paul talks about playing “She Loves You” for his dad the same way we talk about our parents. We’re living through him, but we could never be him. It’s EERIE!

And sure, he’s promoting a new album.

And sure, his hair is not completely his natural color.

But it’s most definitely him. With no artifice. Enjoying his fame. Still a musician at heart. You can take the boy out of Liverpool, but Liverpool’s always in him.

He’s richer than almost everybody else. But he’s not flaunting it, he’s comfortable in his role. You can only kick back and say to yourself you want to be him.

But you can’t.

But you can listen to his music. Which he is still making.

But one day he’ll be unable to. And he’ll become a myth. Like John Lennon. He’ll be cast in stone. His three dimensions will fall away. But for now…

He’s still walking the earth. The biggest giant of the twentieth century. Bigger than any President, bigger than any astronaut, purveyor of the soundtrack to our victories and our losses. You can see he knows all this, it’s there in his eyes.

But he keeps keepin’ on, until the very end.

WHAT AN INSPIRATION!